


Connections

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Blair's childhood but this is also about Blair and Jim as adults, Community: sentinel_thurs, M/M, Sentinel Thursday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18842656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: A long-ago bus station encounter turns out to have been more special than Blair had thought.





	Connections

**Author's Note:**

> written for Sentinel Thursday challenge 561: "connect"

The Greyhound station was nearly empty, just Blair and Naomi and a guy sitting nearby with a little girl leaning against his side, sound asleep. Blair liked bus stations better in the daytime, when there were more people to watch. He also liked them better when there was stuff to read — travel brochures, discarded newspapers; sometimes, if the station was big enough, a stand that sold magazines and paperbacks that he could sneak peeks at. This station didn't have any of that, though.

Blair sighed. His duffle bag was tucked way back underneath Naomi's seat. He couldn't pull it out and get out either of his books without disturbing her, and she hadn't finished processing yet. He could tell, even though her face was serene and she looked relaxed in her meditation as she sat beside him in half lotus. That was okay; that last scene with Craig was kind of a lot to process.

He felt a little bad for Craig. Craig hadn't ever really understood Naomi, that she needed to be free. He hadn't really understood that they wouldn't be staying around long, Naomi and him, and he hadn't been very cool when Naomi told him they were leaving. But at least he'd driven them to the bus station, even if he'd been sort of a jerk about it.

Another whole hour before their bus got there. Blair chewed his lip and drummed his fingers on his thighs. He looked over at the ticket counter, where the guy who'd sold them their tickets was sitting, his head propped up on one hand, more asleep than not. He'd seemed pretty grumpy while he was waiting for Naomi to dig enough money out of her pack, but still, he was probably an interesting guy, with a lot of stories to —

"Let him sleep."

Blair looked across the aisle in surprise. The man who had the little girl sleeping beside him was smiling at him, a quiet smile that matched his quiet voice. "My daughter has a puzzle book. You can have a puzzle to work on, if you want." The man's smile widened. "Probably a little young for you, but it would be something to do."

His eyes were kind, and Naomi was right there if Blair needed her, and a puzzle from a little kid's puzzle book was at least _something_ to do. Blair pushed himself off his hard plastic seat and crossed over to the man and his daughter. "Thanks," he said. " I'm Blair."

"Ken," the man said. He glanced down at the little girl. "And this is Lara." 

Ken kept his voice very quiet, and Lara didn't stir. He nodded toward the seat on his other side, where a big paperback kids' book was lying. "And that's the puzzle book. Lara calls it a lucky puzzle book. According to her, you're supposed to pick a page to work on without looking at it first, and whatever puzzle you pick will be special, just for you."

Blair's eyebrows went up a little. You had to keep an open mind; he knew that, but it still sounded like the kind of game a little kid might play to pretend things were more special than they really were. He used to do stuff like that himself, and it had been fun, but it hadn't ever changed anything. And even though working a lame, way-too-easy puzzle would be better than doing nothing, he didn't want to intrude on Lara's lucky puzzle book even if her dad seemed to think it would be okay.

Her dad seemed to read minds, too, because his smile grew even kinder and he said, "She won't mind if you pull a page out to work on, as long as you choose the page without looking at it first. I promise. She likes to share her lucky puzzles. You need a pencil?"

Blair shook his head. Ken picked up the book and held it out to him, and Blair reached out for it almost automatically. He kept the cover closed and scrabbled his fingers to a page near the back. "This one," he said.

"Tear the page out and take it with you," Ken said. The corners of his eyes crinkled and he sent a fond glance down at the top of his daughter's head before he looked back up at Blair. "Lara would tell you to remember it's special, just for you."

"Thanks," Blair said again. He opened the book and tore the page out as carefully and quietly as he could and put the book back down on the seat beside Ken. Then he looked at the page. The front side was a 'connect the dots' puzzle. The back was just some really bad knock-knock jokes. Neither side seemed special to him at all, and he felt kind of dumb that some stupid, little-kid part of himself had apparently been wishing for something special and was disappointed.

But still, he had something to do now, until their bus got there. He gave Ken and the sleeping Lara one of his best grins — the one that usually made Naomi say, "Oh, sweetie, what am I going to do with you?" — and went back to his seat, clutching his 'special' puzzle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What's this?" Jim emerged from the depths of Blair's closet with a battered cardboard shoebox that had been tied together with string.

Blair felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Oh, man. I forgot I still had that box." He made a _gimme_ gesture at Jim, who backed up out of immediate reach.

Jim's eyes were glinting mischievously. "Something to hide?"

Blair snorted a laugh. "Not exactly. It's just stuff from when I was a kid. I carted that box around all over the place — I can't believe I forgot I still had it. Come on, hand it over."

"Only if I get to see what's in it." Jim's smile softened. "I've seen Naomi's photos of you as a kid, the things that were important to her. Show me what was important to you?"

Put like that, and with that particular smile…. Blair couldn't help but smile back. He and Jim, together, were still new — even if a lot of water had passed under the bridge before they'd gotten to this point — and it blew him away to see Jim like this, so invested, so… open. So willing to share.

Witness the current migration of some of Blair's stuff up to the loft, to Jim's — _their_ — bedroom. 

Witness the cardboard box.

"Sure," Blair said. He glanced at the badly knotted string. "I think we'll need a knife."

Jim was already pulling out his penknife. He sat down on the futon, making short work of sawing through the string, and lifted the lid carefully off the box.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Going through the box turned out to be the work of several beers on both their parts, a heck of a lot of reminiscing on Blair's part, and a lot of teasing on Jim's part. Blair held up the last item in the box for inspection with a nostalgic grin. It was an oddly shaped piece of wood, small but thick-bodied; some obviously crude attempts at carving had given it the suggestion of four legs and a head and tail, so that — if you squinted hard enough — it vaguely resembled a dog.

Blair waggled the piece of wood at Jim. "Jim," he said, "meet Lassie."

Jim's left eyebrow rose inquiringly. "Lassie?"

Blair laughed. "Some of the places we stayed, there'd be a TV, and I saw a bunch of old reruns. Lassie was one my favorite shows. She was so cool. She followed Timmy everywhere and rescued him when he needed it… and just was a really good friend, you know? That you could count on."

Jim cleared his throat. After a moment he nudged Blair's shoulder with his own. "So you made your own Lassie? Who, by the way, was _not_ a she."

"I know that," Blair said indignantly. "And yeah, I made my own Lassie. I carried her around in my pocket for years. Lots of kids do things like that."

"Yeah, I guess they do." Jim's voice sounded less husky now, more teasing. "I hope they can carve better, though. Your Lassie looks more like a squashed turtle than a collie."

That earned Jim an elbow in the ribs, which led to a certain amount of tickling, which led to hands roving less to tickle than to tease, which led to other things. It wasn't until half an hour later, when Blair was sitting cross-legged on the futon wondering how he'd gotten so lucky in his life to have this, to have _Jim,_ and a pleasingly satisfied-looking Jim was pulling himself up to sit beside Blair, that either of them looked at the box again.

It wasn't as empty as Blair had thought. "Hey," he said, "there's still something in here, some kind of…. Oh."

"Mmm?"

Blair held the piece of paper he'd pulled from the bottom of the box with fingers that almost felt like they were tingling. The night in the Greyhound station came back to him suddenly in crystal clear detail: the dingy, boring surroundings, kind Ken, sleeping Lara and her lucky 'special' puzzle book. 

Connect the dots.

He'd connected the dots that night, and sometime later — weeks, months; he didn't remember — he'd colored in the drawing with black crayon.

Jim lifted the paper gently from Blair's hands. "Chief," he said slowly, looking up from it to pin Blair with a piercing gaze, "why did you keep this?" 

Blair had to swallow before he could speak. "It was supposed to mean something special, just for me." He stared at the connect-the-dots jaguar. "I didn't ever really believe it, though. And then I forgot about it. Looks like Lara knew what she was talking about."

"'Lara?'" Jim said. His voice sounded teasing, but there was something running underneath it, something Blair couldn't quite put his finger on. "Should I be worried?"

"I don't know," Blair said. He threw a glance over his shoulder at the rumpled sheets on the futon. "Should you be? Considering she was like five years old and slept through the whole time we were in the same bus station together, and —"

"And _no,_ " Jim interrupted.

"No?"

"No, I'm not worried." Jim folded up the puzzle page and put it back into the box. He turned to pull Blair in against his chest. "Just… glad your friend Lara got it right. She did get it right?"

Blair tilted his head back to give Jim a look, the kind of look he hoped said _Kiss me now, dammit,_ and said, "Yeah, Jim. She got it right."


End file.
